


LazyTown Ship Week 2019 Shorts

by OtterlyDeerlightful



Category: Glanni Glæpur í Latabæ, LazyTown
Genre: Childhood Friends, Day At The Beach, Fluff, Gay Robots, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Ship Week, Shorts, Summer Vacation, Video & Computer Games, glannithro, sportarobbie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtterlyDeerlightful/pseuds/OtterlyDeerlightful
Summary: A series of one-shots for LazyTown Ship Week (Feb 4-10, 2019).Day #1 - Plants/GardeningDay #2 - Memes/JokesDay #3 - Sportscandy/FoodDay #4 - Robots/TechnologyDay #5 - Dancing/SingingDay #6  - Social Media/Video GamesDay #7 - Travel/Vacations





	1. Day #1 - Plants/Gardening

The soon-to-be class garden was coming along well. Though not yet in the designated garden space waiting outside, the children had been caring for their little seedlings dutifully every day. They checked on them in the morning when they arrived to school and once again before heading home at the end of the day. One little boy, Íþrótta, was particularly excited about the project. He doted on his sprouts as though they were his children, and he took incredible joy in seeing their slow but sure progress every day.

“It’s like he uses magic on ‘em or somethin’,” one of the other children grumbled under his breath as he gathered up his things to go home.

The boy, Glanni, was probably the only student in the class who did not care for their gardening project. The entire thing felt like just too much work for, in his mind, a worthless payoff. Glanni had only been doing the bare minimum to try and keep his plants alive just so the teacher wouldn’t scold him. Which was why, watching the other boy tend to his seedlings day after day, Glanni just couldn’t understand why Íþrótta was so engaged in taking care of the stupid things. They were just dumb plants.

Even so, Glanni couldn’t deny the attention that Íþrótta’s sprouts seemed to generate. Their classmates marveled at his work and asked for tips, and the teacher praised the child’s green thumb. No one _ever_ complimented anything Glanni did. Usually he just got in trouble or, worse, was left forgotten and ignored altogether. It wasn’t fair. Just because Íþrótta was a plant-obsessed weirdo didn’t mean he deserved _all_ the attention.

He watched as his classmate finally turned away from his precious little seedlings to grab his backpack to head home. Glanni glared a hole into the back of the blond’s head as Íþrótta skipped out the door to greet whatever parental figure was probably waiting for him.

Glanni stuck his tongue out after his classmate before taking a quick glance around the room to make sure the teacher was busy helping someone else get ready to leave. He reached into his backpack, fishing around for a moment before slyly pulling out the small bottle of contraband soda. Careful to keep it out of view, Glanni crept over to the row of little boxes basking in the sunlight by the window.

“See if stupid Íþrótta has such a green thumb if his plants drink _this_ ,” he hissed quietly, tipping the bottle and letting the sugary drink sink into the soil.

The sound of his teacher’s voice out in the hallway made him pull back quickly, a few drops of soda sprinkling over the shelf before he quickly recapped the bottle and stowed it away and out of sight. With a confident smirk. Glanni slung his bag over his shoulder and scampered out of the room.

*****

The next morning, Glanni walked in to find a small cluster of his classmates huddled by the temporary garden. He smiled to himself, strolling over to reap the rewards of yesterday’s mischief. He gleefully imagined what Íþrótta’s face would look like upon seeing his sprouts…shock, awe, anger, disbelief. Any of them would have been hilarious to see. What he had _not_ expected to find, though, was Íþrótta’s look of utter devastation.

The little blond boy stared at the shriveled, wilted plants with wet eyes, his chin quivering as he held out his hands toward the discolored seedlings as though he was trying to figure out some way to help them. A soft whimper escaped the child’s throat as he stood there, oblivious to the small crowd that had grown around him.

Glanni scratched the back of his neck, suddenly not feeling near as excited as he had moments ago. He heard the teacher approach and offer soft words of condolences, but they just seemed to make things worse. The dark-haired back cringed as Íþrótta began to sniffle, new tears sliding down the already-present tracks on his cheeks. Glanni chewed the inside of his cheek and sluggishly obeyed their teacher’s instruction for everyone to return to their seats. Íþrótta didn’t, and Glanni couldn’t help but stare as the teacher ushered him toward the classroom door and out into the hallway.

He spared the dead seedlings another glance, the tiny things no longer green and vibrant, but mere darkened husks sticking out of the dirt. He had done that. Glanni had hoped to teach Íþrótta a lesson, but for what? He had only wanted to knock down the boy’s pride down a bit, right? He hadn’t meant to…to _destroy_ him. Just because he wanted to cause a little bit of mischief didn’t mean he had wanted to hurt anyone, even a goodie two-shoes like Íþrótta.

Glanni looked up when the other boy came back into the room. Íþrótta’s eyes were red and puffy, and the usual pep in his step—usually his most defining trait—was completely gone. Glanni watched him slide into his seat and stare at his desk as their teacher began her lessons for the day, but he didn’t hear a word. He was pretty sure Íþrótta wasn’t listening either.

Although Glanni rarely paid much attention in class, today was different. He had really screwed up and needed to fix it. With another glance over at the seedlings by the window, he started to come up with a plan to do just that. It wasn’t a very good one, but he felt so rotten after seeing how much he had hurt the other boy, Glanni knew that he had to try.

Recess somehow managed to take even longer than usual to arrive that day, which was definitely saying something as far as Glanni was concerned. He normally stayed behind, never one to be too keen on running around the playground to get messy and made fun of for being bad at sports, so when Glanni hung back while all the other children made a mad dash for the door, his teacher thought nothing of it.

He grabbed Íþrótta’s box of sad, wilted plants, tucked it under his arm, and hurried toward the back of the room, swiping a second box from the sill along the way. He set up shop out of sight in the corner, determined to make this work whether or not his teacher decided to come back inside before recess was finished or not. Glanni dug out the seedlings he had destroyed, tossing them and much of the contaminated soil in the nearby garbage can. He then, carefully, selected and transplanted the best-looking plants from the second box into the first. In direct competition of how he had always treated his project plants before today, Glanni picked up each of the little sprouts with the utmost care, determined not to damage a single root or leaf at any time during the process.

He worked quickly, and the scruffy-haired child finished just in time. No sooner had he set the boxes back in their places and tucked a slip of paper next to Íþrótta’s partially restored crop than the first of the children began to file back into the room. He hurried to his chair and sprawled across his desk in an attempt to look like he may have been taking a nap in lieu of going out to play with everyone else. Íþrótta soon followed the rest of their classmates, looking as dejected as he had that morning. Glanni held his breath as he watched the other boy’s movements, biting his lip when Íþrótta came to a stand-still upon seeing the line of plants by the window. Glanni buried his face into his arms to hide his smile as he watched an amazed, toothy grin spread over the other little boy’s face. He looked away, forcing himself to ignore Íþrótta from that point on. He didn’t dare give himself away.

The rest of the day was a bore, and Glanni spent most of the time doodling in his notebook instead of paying attention to their lessons. The end of the day eventually came and, like clockwork, Íþrótta went over to tend to his plants. His new plants. Glanni tried to ignore the boy as best he could, though he did end up sneaking a few quick glances out of the corner of his eye as he gathered up his things.

“Glanni?”

The child jumped, yelping at the sound of a suddenly too-close Íþrótta who had walked up behind him. He spun around with wide eyes.

“ _What_?” he demanded a bit sharply, if only from momentary panic.

Íþrótta took a step back to give his classmate some space. He swallowed, wringing something in his hands a moment before speaking up again. “I…wanted to say thank you.”

The mischief-maker frowned. “F-for what?”

The blond boy offered a soft smile and held out the small note to his peer. Glanni didn’t need to look at it to know what it said, written in messy, angular handwriting. _Sorry I killed your plants_.

“For giving me some of your plants.”

Glanni’s heart dropped into his stomach, and his face paled to reflect it. Íþrótta just stood there with that same, warm expression.

“I didn’t—I mean! Uh…” The child’s mind scrambled to try and come up with a believable deflection. “What are you talking about?”

Íþrótta gave a brief look back toward all of the little boxes at the window. “Yours is the only box that’s missing anything.”

Glanni let out a small squeak, eyes immediately widening at his obvious oversight.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Íþrótta continued. “I…don’t know why you did it in the first place, but…thanks for sharing your plants with me.”

The trouble-maker shrugged and looked away, unsure how to react to his classmate’s attitude. This was supposed to be where Glanni got yelled out, ratted out, maybe even hit. Instead, Íþrótta just seemed…happy.

“You…wanna be friends?”

Frowning again, Glanni looked back to Íþrótta, completely puzzled. “What?”

“Do you want to be friends?” Íþrótta repeated. “I know you get in trouble a lot, but…that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends together. Right?”

Glanni stared at the strange, blond boy. Friends? Glanni had never had a friend before. A friend might be…nice. Though he knew he shouldn’t, the little boy found himself nodding. The smile that spread across Íþrótta’s face made a strange warmth bloom in his chest and, despite himself, Glanni couldn’t help but find himself also smiling at the prospect.

“…Okay.”

Íþrótta laughed, jumping and happily spinning at the news, his usual energy back to normal. “Great! Friends, then!”

Íþrótta held out his hand and Glanni found himself taking it, getting up from his desk.

“S-sorry my plants are kind of stinky…I didn’t take very good care of them.”

“That’s okay!” his new friend assured him. “We can take care of them together so they can grow and they’ll get better in no time!”

Glanni smiled. Yeah…better in no time. Maybe gardening was worth something after all.


	2. Day #2 - Memes/Jokes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna be at least a day late on all of these...oh well.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” the girl whispered.

“Of course I’m sure! What do you take me for?” the man hissed back.

“I dunno. Some of your ideas are…well, _you know_ …”

“My ideas are _what_ , exactly?”

“Uh…perfect?”

“That’s what I thought you said,” he huffed.

The girl just sighed and shook her head while the man sitting by her side prepped the device between them. She shrugged and turned back to the pair of purple binoculars in her hands, leaning over to try and get a better view of the path. Robbie busied himself setting their ammunition in place.

Trixie resumed her watch with the comically large binoculars pressed closely to her face. Their previous victim, Ziggy, had absolutely loved the prank and both she and her partner in crime were ready to spring their fine-tuned trap on another unsuspecting pedestrian.

“See anyone?” Robbie whispered, rustling the leaves of their hide-away bush when he leaned over to do so.

“If I did, they’d know we were here already!” she snapped back with a hiss. “You’re too loud!”

“ _I’m_ too loud—?” The bush rattled again as the villain got his voice back under control, returning to a subdued whisper quickly. “I’m too loud? What about you? People in Siberia could hear your breathing!”

“As if!”

Robbie _harrumph_ ed and the pair went back to their stake-out. It was a little disappointing that there was so little foot traffic for such a nice day, but they could wait. It would be worth it. And at least it was warm out, and they had some sturdy branches to keep comfortable while they waited. It was so comfortable, in fact, that Robbie had started to doze off when he was suddenly smacked in the ribs by a small hand. He let out a yelp only to have that same hand immediately cover his mouth. Trixie glared at him. He licked her palm, daring to face the nasty child germs that resided there just to watch the look of silent horror on her face as he yanked her hand away and began wiping it furiously on her pants. Heh. Worth it.

“Gross!” she whined as quietly as she could manage.

“Serves you right,” Robbie whispered back.

“You were gonna start snoring and ruin everything!” Before her companion could give a retort, the girl pointed through the leaves. “See! Someone’s coming!”

Even without his binoculars, Robbie could see the shape of a humanoid figure approaching, and quickly!  He gasped, flailing around and shaking their hiding place terribly as he got himself into position. Trixie huffed at him in annoyance, but held the binoculars up to her eyes and fell into the intense concentration that only a well-executed prank could bring to her.

“Steady,” she whispered.

Robbie’s fingers twitched in anticipation.

“Almost…”

His lip curled excitedly into a menacing grin.

“Get ready.”

The man’s hand was poised over the release switch, just waiting for the little girl’s signal.

“And… _now_!”

Robbie slapped the release with all his strength. A pair of arms parted the shrubbery to make way for the immense pie that was flung out by his ingeniously crafted slingshot. The pie whistled as it flew through the air, hitting its target with a thick, wet _slorp_ that was just music to Robbie’s evil ears. A loud thud soon followed, and Robbie and Trixie alike jumped to their feet. Roaring in jubilant glee, they popped out from their bush to see who had be unlucky enough to walk into their delicious trap. The cheering and laughter soon stopped, however, when they recognized the victim.

“Sportacus!” Robbie yelped, hands flying up to grasp at his hair. He turned immediately to Trixie. “You didn’t _tell me_ it was Sportaflop!”

The girl held up her hands as she shook her head, mouth agape in shock for a moment. “I couldn’t tell! I didn’t have a great view and…”

Robbie waved her away. There was no time for squabbling; Sportacus needed him! Robbie tumbled out of the suddenly obstructive bush to get to the boyfriend that was lifelessly sprawled on his back in the middle of the walkway. He only tripped twice on the way, shedding leaves and sticks as he went.

“Of all the times for me to have perfect aim!” he cried as he fell to his knees beside the town hero. “Oh no,” he moaned as he looked upon the unconscious hero. “Oh, I am in _so_ much trouble…” With shaking hands, he pried away the pie tin that covered Sportacus’ face. Seeing the hero’s pie-covered image made Robbie cringe. “…I’m going to be in the doghouse forever.”

Trixie crept closer to the scene, trying to get a better look at the sugary carnage.

“Is he okay?” she asked hesitantly.

Robbie chewed nervously on his lower lip while desperately trying to wipe his boyfriend’s face clean of pie. “Does he _look_ okay, Tricky?” His voice sounded much higher than usual.

The little girl was undeterred. “He didn’t….you know...did he?”

Robbie let out a squeak before answering. “If you’re asking if I gave my boyfriend a sugar meltdown by throwing a pie right at his stupid hero mouth, then _yes_! Yes I did!” Robbie cried. He clutched his temples, his pie-covered hands smearing the stuff through his hair. “Go get me some sportscandy or something! We have to wake him up!”

“I can’t.”

The villain’s head whipped toward the child so quickly that one might worry that Robbie had snapped his own neck. “ _What_?”

“I can’t!” Trixie cried, throwing up her hands. “There isn’t any! We were picking all the apples and all that stuff yesterday! There’s nothing left!”

“Nothing left?” Robbie shrieked.

“That’s what I said!”

“How in the name of villainy can there be an _apple shortage_ in the _apple capital of the world_?”

Trixie made a face. “In the what…?”

Robbie ignored her, already having moved on to Plan B. It wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but he was desperate. He grabbed a fistful of nearby turf and patted Sportacus’ cheek, hoping the sensation might help bring some sense back to the town hero. Oh, he hoped this worked.

“Okay, Sportaconcious, you’ve gotta work with me here. You, uh…you like salad, right?” He looked dubiously at his handful of grass. “It’s, uh…all natural.”

Someone snorted.

Robbie growled, looking over his shoulder at the little girl standing there. She was smiling, but shrugged. “Wasn’t me,” she said, sinking a bit into her own shoulders as she spoke, as though she was trying to hold in laughter.

There was another amused snort nearby and, for lack of anywhere else to look, Robbie looked back down at his boyfriend. Sportacus was smiling. Another snort and the hero fell into outright laughter, finally opening his eyes. Robbie’s jaw dropped at the sight of it.

“You’re…but the pie…how… _what_?”

Sportacus giggled, eyes giving his boyfriend’s hand a quick glance. “Were…were you going to try and feed me _grass_?” the hero laughed.

Robbie continued to stare, frozen in place at the revelation that the elf was still conscious after taking a pie to the face. “You’re—?”

“Surprise!” Sportacus chucked, sitting up and delivering a cream-covered kiss to Robbie’s cheek.

“But how!”

Now it was Trixie’s turn to giggle. “It’s easy when the pie doesn’t have any sugar in it!” she said, proudly setting her hands on her hips. “Sportacus and I planned _everything_.”

Robbie gaped at the two of them, looking back and forth in amazement. “You—you tricked me? _You_? But you’re the hero! And You—!” He pointed back at Trixie. “—We were supposed to be _partners_!”

“Playing the long con!” the little girl said with a confident grin.

Sportacus wiped some of the pie remnants from around his eyes. “It was a good joke, wasn’t it, Robbie? When Trixie told me about it I just couldn’t resist.”

Robbie looked back at his pie-covered boyfriend in amazement. “I…” He shook his head, shoulders relaxing slightly now that he finally began to realize Sportacus was okay, despite looking like some kind of whipped cream monster. “I am a _terrible_ influence on you!”

Sportacus snickered for a moment before bursting into laughter again. Robbie couldn’t help himself. Slowly, he felt himself smile and begin to laugh, too. Trixie beamed, watching the pair as Sportacus playfully smushed some of the leftover pie into Robbie’s face to make the villain laugh even harder. She only looked away when the pair began to kiss. Even without pie everywhere, kissing was just gross.


	3. Day #3 - Sportscandy/Food

A dark shadow blocked out the cozy sunshine. Glanni whined in protest, opening an eye and squinting for a moment before lifting his sunglasses to his forehead and replacing his hand behind his head.

“You tire yourself out already?” Glanni asked with a yawn from where he was sprawled on the blanket. “That has to be a new record.”

Sportacus laughed, hands clasped behind his back as he admired the image of his, admittedly, unlikely boyfriend lounging on his own beach towel. Something about seeing the renowned criminal relaxing against the backdrop of his own heroic colors just sent his heart an affectionate flutter. After staying on his feet for another second, just to take in the sight of the other man for that much longer, Sportacus spun around to sit at Glanni’s side.

“Not tired at all,” he said cheerfully, leaning over to give Glanni a peck on the cheek. “I just missed you.”

“Charming little shit,” Glanni giggled, tilting up his chin and smacking his lips together. “Get down here so I can kiss you.”

It was a good thing the children weren’t around, or Sportacus would have been horrified with Glanni’s language. Luckily, it was a nice, quiet day away from all responsibility and worry. The kids were all home working on science fair projects, and Milford had even promised not to partake in any physical labor of any sort to ensure that Sportacus could have a lovely, uninterrupted date with his significant other. He leaned over to let his lips brush Glanni’s, enjoying the minty freshness that showed just how considerate the man could be in his presence.

“Will you come swimming with me?” Sportacus asked hopefully.

Glanni sighed, falling silent for a few seconds as he mulled over the prospect. Eventually, he sighed and pulled his hands out from under his head to better reach out and pull Sportacus down to him, smothering his own body in that of the wonderfully bare-chested hero. The criminal let his fingertips dance over the back of Sportacus’ neck as he met the man’s lips with his own for a long, lovely kiss.

“Is that a maybe?” the hero snickered only after they parted.

“For _you_ , I’ll consider it,” Glanni relented. “It’ll give you a taste of your own medicine, you awful man.”

The hero looked genuinely confused at the statement. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t have you being the only god in swim shorts and sparkling in the sunlight with water dripping down his gorgeous stomach—” Glanni traced a finger down the hero’s front as he spoke. “—looking like the most beautiful, alluring man on the goddamn planet…” He gave Sportacus a wink. “’Cause I’m gonna put you to shame.”

Sportacus giggled, leaning in to kiss his partner again, more briefly this time. “I’m glad. It will be fun, Glanni. You’ll like it.”

“I know I will,” the man purred. “But…after a snack. You’re always going on about high duration or whatever, right?”

The hero rolled his eyes. “ _Hydration_ , Glanni. It means drinking water to make sure you—”

“ _Bleh_ ,” the other man interrupted, scrunching his nose. “Nasty stuff. I’ll stick to my soda, thank you.”

Sportacus’ smile wavered. “Glanni, soda isn’t good for you. You shouldn’t drink it all the time. It doesn’t help you stay hydrated at all, it—”

The hero fell silent at the touch of Glanni’s finger upon his lips.

“Sporty, what did I say about the lectures?”

The blond pouted.

“I do your little twenty times time, I let you wake me up at the crack of ten o’clock, I even let you guilt me into having an entire day every damn week where I don’t have any candy. You try to talk me out of my soda and I’ll have to give something _else_ up instead, understand?”

Sportacus frowned around Glanni’s index finger, his mustache drooping ever so slightly.

“’M un’leh terin’ ter—”

“I know, I _know_ you’re only trying to look out for me, Sweetie, but you overdo it. Sometimes you’re as bad as the yellow menace at home.”

Sportacus frowned, tilting his head in curiosity when Glanni pulled back his finger and pushed Sportacus off of him so he could sit up properly. The hero blinked, staring at the sky for a moment before turning his head to gaze at his boyfriend again.

“I just worry about you,” the hero said from where he now laid. “I know you do not like healthy things, Glanni, but they’re good for you! I want you to feel good and be healthy and…live a long life.”

“Health is more individualized than you think,” Glanni sighed contently, rolling his shoulders. “Anyway, if you’re going to have me running around out there looking like a drowning fool, we should fuel up first, don’t you think?”

Sportacus smiled at the change in subject, sitting back up so quickly that Glanni startled at the movement.

“That’s a good idea!” the hero agreed. “It’s important to have regular breaks when you’re playing, especially outside,” he recited as he reached for his small, blue cooler.

Glanni gave a noncommittal hum in response as he reached into a large floral patterned beach bag to produce a small, pink cooler of his own.

“Oh, you have your own! That was very smart planning, Glanni.”

The con man flashed a smile at his boyfriend and set it in his lap. “Of course. Can’t have my goodies mixing with your little sports muffins or whatever and having you go into overload.”

Sportacus laughed and nodded. “We wouldn’t want to do that again,” he agreed. “Though I feel like I probably packed too much, now. I brought extra in case you wanted to try anything.”

Glanni waved a hand and lowered his sunglasses again as the sun emerged once more from behind a fluffy cloud overhead. “You knock yourself out. I have my orange slices anyway.”

The hero paused, hand frozen in mid-air where it held his sandwich. Glanni didn’t seem to notice and set about unlocking the lid to his cooler.

“You have orange slices?” Sportacus asked in amazement.

Glanni gave him a curious look, one eyebrow raising above his sunglasses. “Yes.”

“That you’ll _eat_?”

“They’re good! What, I can’t have _one_ sportscandy that I like?”

“I didn’t think you liked _any_!” Sportacus replied with a grand smile. “That’s wonderful, Glanni! I’m so hap….”

His words died in his throat when he saw what his partner was pulling out of the cooler. It was spherical, yes; orange, yes; but that was definitely not sportscandy. Sportscandy wasn’t made out of tinfoil wrappers.

“Glanni, what is that?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

The thin man gave him a look. “What does it look like? Orange slices.”

Sportacus could practically feel the blood draining from his face at the sight of Glanni unfurling the wrapper to reveal the wedges of chocolate arranged in a sphere within, each of them attached to a center spindle. He couldn’t decide whether he should be intrigued or disgusted at the level of detail in the wedge that Glanni picked from the bunch and raised to his lips. The chocolate pieces were all textured to look like actual orange slices, only…they weren’t. They weren’t and they could never be.

“Glanni, that’s not an orange.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it is. The package said so.”

Sportacus felt his shoulders drop. “You of all people should know that packaging doesn’t always tell the whole truth!” he pointed out. “Glanni, that’s candy, not _sports_ candy!”

“Says you.”

The hero nodded. “I do! That’s chocolate! Ah…here!” He set his sandwich aside and rummaged around in his cooler for a moment, soon producing a piece of fruit. “ _This_ is an orange!”

Glanni’s jaw dropped as he stared at the round thing. He tilted his head for a better view, inspecting every angle of the thing in Sportacus’ hand. After a moment, he blinked a few times and sat back. “Huh. Well, would you look at that,” he said in vague surprise. Glanni shrugged and popped another chocolate slice into his mouth.

“ _Glanni_!”

“ _What_?” the criminal whined. “I like mine better.”

Sportacus sighed, shaking his head as he watched his unlikely beloved eat his faux sportscandy. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked, a faint smile on his lips.

Glanni grinned, wiggling as he secured his comfort on his towel. “Give me a cuddle while I enjoy my _orange slices_ and watch the water with me?”

The hero’s heart fluttered again and he moved closer to cradle the other man against him while they both ate. “I can do that.”


	4. #4 - Robots/Technology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I gave myself the Feels while writing this one.

The pounding at his window jolted the boy from his video game. He looked up in surprised confusion, startled to see the long, familiar face of Robbie Rotten, the laziest man in all of LazyTown, looking at him with almost comically large eyes. They stared at one another in silence for a few long seconds before Robbie rapped loudly on the window once again.

“Prickle!” he whined, his voice muffled by the glass. “I need your help!”

The boy, whose actual name was Pixel, lifted himself from his computer chair and crossed the room. He opened his window and watched the tall man carefully. It wasn’t every day that the town’s biggest ne’er-do-well came to a child’s window begging for help. The entire thing was highly suspicious, but Pixel couldn’t quite ignore the uncomfortable feeling that the adult’s panic-stricken eyes ignited in him. Whatever was wrong, Robbie seemed to be genuine in his desperation.

“I _really_ need your help, Pimple. If you can’t help me, no one in this God-forsaken town can. Will you help me? _Please_?”

He hesitated. This _was_ Robbie Rotten, after all. What good ever came from talking with him?

“What’s the problem, exactly?” the boy heard himself asking.

Robbie’s hiked shoulders relaxed a bit. Only slightly, but the relief from Pixel’s words was obvious.

“I—I need your help. I have this robot, you see, and…and something’s wrong! I can’t figure out where the problem is and you’re the only other person in town smart enough to help! _Please_ , I don’t know what to do!”

Pixel blinked. Robot? What would Robbie Rotten need with a robot? And were those…tears in his eyes? Okay, maybe the guy _wasn’t_ pulling a prank on him. Pixel would feel terrible if he turned Robbie away when he really needed help.

“Okay, fine. Let me get my tools.”

Robbie wet his lips nervously. “And…and a computer, too! A good one! M-meet me at the billboard outside of town. And be quick about it!”

With that, the tall, lanky figure raced off. Pixel leaned out his window, watching the man all but run down the street. He shook his head and blinked in disbelief, watching the fellow LazyTowner disappear down the road.

“Robbie Rotten…running?” he asked aloud to no one before closing his bedroom window again. Pixel shook his head once again. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

*****

“Took you long enough!” Robbie snapped upon seeing the boy walk up the lane to the billboard. “Er…I mean…thanks for coming.” He swallowed, running a hand through his unusually unkept hair. “Really. I mean it.”

Pixel offered an awkward smile at the mixed greeting. “So, uh…where’s the robot?”

“Inside. Come on,” Robbie said, waving for Pixel to follow him as he hurried through a door in the billboard that the boy had never known was there before.

He blinked and shook his head before following the man. Might as well go with the already-weird flow, after all. Pixel closed the door behind him, figuring it would be impolite to just leave it swinging open, and looked around for Robbie. The man shouted something to him before jumping down the opening to what looked like…an underground silo? A land submarine? Pixel rubbed his eyes, yet still the strange purple tube with its lifted lid remained.

“Man, how do I get myself into these things?” he mumbled to himself, walking over, climbing the short ladder and, with a gulp, sliding down into the darkness.

The boy landed on his feet, though he nearly lost his balance once the weight of his backpack hit him. He caught himself, readjusted the straps, and took a look around at…wherever they were. His mouth fell open at the sight of the expansive room he beheld. Did Robbie actually _live_ here? The boy looked around at his surroundings in awe. There was a weird shaggy-looking orange chair in the center of it, a matching lamp beside it. Along the back wall was a series of tubes, all filled with colorful costumes, and some sort of pipe organ attached to them. Probably a control panel, he decided, but what did it do? Before his curiosity could be satisfied, though, his attention was drawn to a series of work tables and benches on the opposite side of the room.

“Oh, wow,” he whispered, approaching one of the tables.

This had to be it. The lumps and parts strewn across it definitely looked like a half-assembled robot, even if it was partially covered by a sheet. A ballerina, maybe? At least, parts of one. Not all the limbs were attached yet, most of the circuitry was exposed, and half of it wasn’t even painted. A partially finished head sat on a pedestal nearby, the expressionless face not yet complete, though a dark wig sat nearby waiting.

“Is this it?” he asked.

“Is what…? No, not her! Don’t touch, she’s not finished yet!” Robbie hollered, though his voice sounded abnormally shaky. “This one, over here!”

Pixel turned toward Robbie’s voice to see the man hunched over something on the floor near the corner of the room. The mass, he quickly realized, looked human. Definitely the robot. Still marveling over the fact that the town outcast was apparently making such amazing, advanced-looking mechanical creations in a secret underground bunker, Pixel trotted over to see what he could do to help.

This robot was much bigger than the first, the size of a grown man, in fact. It...looked like it could _be_ a real man, actually, if not for a few lines at the joints and other minor details. The craftsmanship was amazingly impressive. The face was so detailed, complete with a messy mop of blond hair and one of the weirdest mustaches Pixel had ever seen. Some kind of camouflaged antenna, maybe. It looked real, like it was just a regular guy who happened to be asleep on the floor. What gave it away, though, was the gaping torso. It looked like Robbie had already taken off the robot’s vest and pulled up their shirt to open a few panels to take a look inside.

“Wow…this is amazing, Robbie!”

“It’s not amazing!” the man snapped. “He’s hurt! W-we were running tests on the waterproof casings and…and everything looked fine, but then…” Robbie’s voice fell the longer he spoke. “We overdid it, and…I tried to get him back to the table but he…” He sniffled. “He’s too heavy for me to move him and…I really need your help, Pencil. I don’t know where else I can go. I don’t…I don’t even know if he’s still _in_ there or if he’s…if he’s…”

The boy looked back and forth between man and machine. Robbie was really attached to this thing, wasn’t he? Well, he was here to help, so he would do his best to manage just that. Pixel slipped off his backpack and began pulling out his equipment: a toolbox, laptop, and a bunch of different wires.

“Don’t worry, Robbie. I’ll take a look and I’ll have this thing up and running in no time, I know it!”

Well, he had though he _knew it_ , anyway.

Robbie and Pixel worked together for over two hours before they mutually decided that Robbie needed a mental break from the stress. The man sat in his orange chair, fidgeting with worry and asking the occasional question as Pixel worked. They replaced a few parts and burned out circuits, even taking a look inside the robot’s—“Sportacus! Stop calling him an _it_. His name is Sportacus. It’s a _stupid_ name, but it’s his!”—head to see what intricacies there might need to be fixed or replaced.

The entire process took the entire day, and the robot Sportacus still wasn’t responding.

Robbie slumped to the floor nearby, unable to stay in his chair any longer. He watched quietly as Pixel tried and failed again to get Sportacus up and running. He sighed and wiped at his eye when it seemed he thought Pixel was busy staring at the readouts on his laptop screen.

“This whole thing was an accident,” he said quietly.

Pixel nodded as he worked. “Yeah, I know. You said you were testing—”

“No, not that.” He swallowed and nodded down at the robot. “ _Him_. I tried to make something that might be able to hold a conversation, that’s all, just a simple one so there’d be someone to talk to now and then, maybe clean up the place so I didn’t have to. I went through nine failures before I finally got one to start up properly without exploding something in the first five minutes.” Robbie gave a weak smile at the memory. “He jumped up right away…wouldn’t _stop_ jumping. I don’t know how, or what I did different, but…he’s not just a robot with a list of responses. He _thinks_. He has a personality. And I…” The man let out a loud, shaky breath. “I’ve killed him.”

Pixel swallowed, picking his words carefully after hearing the story. “You didn’t kill him, Robbie. It—he’ll be okay.”

“Even if he turns back on, he’ll probably be gone,” Robbie sighed. “Spontaneous intelligence like that wasn’t something I planned for. A wire must’ve gotten crossed or _something_ and...oh, he was _alive_ , Pixel. And we’ve been playing with his brain all day. If he wakes up, the perfect circumstances that made Sportacus _Sportacus_ won’t…” He swallowed. “He may not be there anymore.”

The boy shifted where he sat, unsure what to think about all of this, much less what the best thing to say might be. All he could offer was “I replaced a couple of relays, and the diagnostic test looked okay so…maybe it’ll work this time. Maybe it’ll be okay.”

The man nodded, but didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked like he may fall apart at any moment himself. Pixel carefully connected a few wires and moved a small switch, sitting back to watch the circuit complete itself. The sound of a fan started up. A few little lights blinked to life inside the robot’s chest cavities and Pixel could hear Robbie gasp with hope as a couple of gears began to turn.  And then, all at once, it stopped.

“Wh-what happened?” Robbie demanded, jumping to his feet. “He was working! He was working!”

Pixel’s eyes were wide and frantic as he searched the Sportacus robot’s chest for answers. “I don’t know! It looked like it was—Robbie, where are you going?”

Pixel scrambled to his feet, chasing after the man. He jumped back when Robbie grabbed some tools from a nearby table and, with a mighty grunt, threw them across the room. He kicked over a bucket of nuts, another filled with bolts, and threw a screwdriver straight into the tubes of costumes, causing a small crack in one. Robbie let out a roar of frustration and stomped over to the far table, causing Pixel to gasp, panicked as he realized where the man was headed.

“Robbie, no, don’t—”

Instead of throwing or hitting the pieces of ballerina, though, Robbie collapsed onto the stool beside her, his arms limp and back hunched. Something in the boy’s stomach twisted at the sight of the mechanical genius crumbling in front of him.

“I was going to try again,” he mumbled, reaching out to stroke the half-finished cheek before of him.

Pixel wasn’t sure if Robbie was talking to him anymore or not.

“I wanted to try again. Sp-Sportacus was so excited when I told him. You...” Robbie shuddered, holding in a sob as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “You were going to be our daughter if I could figure out how to…to…”

Pixel almost didn’t hear the soft click. He did, however, distinctly hear two others immediately after the first. He turned slowly, the sound of a soft hiss filling his ears as the sight of something sitting up filled his vision. The robot, after plucking some of the wiring out of his chest, closed the panels on his chest and pulled down his white shirt. He sat up, looking down at himself with a look of confusion. The boy began to wave his hand in his host’s direction.

“Robbie!” he whispered. “Robbie! There was a startup delay! It was just a delay, look!”

As if hearing his words, the robot, Sportacus, looked up. He paid the newcomer little mind, though, as his attention was drawn almost immediately to his creator. Sportacus’ glowing blue eyes widened at the sight of the man crying over the pieces of the little ballerina. The robot jumped to his feet, the movement so sudden that Pixel jumped.

“Robbie, what’s wrong?”

The inventor froze for a second before looking up in disbelief. “Sp…Sportacus?”

The robot smiled and quickly closed the distance between them, wrapping the man in a grand hug that was readily returned. Pixel stared, slackjawed, at the sight of the usually grumpy man squealing with joy and hugging the robot so tightly that the boy wouldn’t be surprised to see dents in Sportacus’ casing. Robbie covered Sportacus’ face with relieved kisses and let out a heavy sigh as he all but collapsed in the mechanical being’s embrace.

“I thought you were gone for good. I thought your memory would be wiped and…and I’d be alone again. I never installed a failsafe for that. I never expected…oh, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Sportacus kissed his creator’s cheek. “I learned how to make backups myself,” he reassured the man. “Just in case. Now I’m glad I did! I only lost a little bit since the last one, I think. Did something go wrong with the tests?”

“I’ll say!” Robbie laughed. “You genius, idiot robot, you!”

Pixel smiled while the two of them laughed. While he made a mental list of questions to ask Robbie about the amazing fluidity of Sportacus’ movements and his clearly sophisticated AI basis, he decided that now wasn’t really the time for them. He was just glad that everything was okay. It seemed Robbie was a little more than just attached to his robot, and the man’s earlier terror suddenly began to make more sense.

Robbie, looking over Sportacus’ shoulder, finally seemed to realize that the child was still standing there watching the two of them. He gestured for his mechanical companion to turn and look.

“This...this is Pretzel. I mean, er, Pixel. He’s…without him, we’d…we’d both be lost.”

The boy gave an awkward wave. “H-hi.”

The robot practically beamed. “Is he our new son?”

Robbie snorted. Pixel smiled.

“Not exactly,” Robbie said with a fondness in his eyes.

The robot nodded, leaving his creator’s side to greet the new human. He held out a hand. “Halló. My name is Sportacus Ten! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pixel!”

The boy smiled, offering a hand of his own. “It’s nice to meet you, Sportacus.”


	5. Day #5 - Dancing/Singing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one may not feel whole, or rushed, but that’s because I went from “I dunno what to write” to “shit I have another 15+k fic on my hands” in, like, 0.2 seconds. I may expand upon this idea in a full story later if people show any interest but…not right now.

“No!”

Eyes began to turn to see what the commotion was about. The young blond in the doorway shrank back, the teenager looking like he was about to bolt. Seeing so many people staring at him made the entire situation worse, it seemed, because the young man’s face began to turn a distinctive pink, his eyes growing wider and wider with fear the longer the moment stretched on.

The pair of adults standing with him did not seem to notice the boy’s discomfort. One of them, the shorter of the pair, looked remarkably similar to the teenager, right down to their matching pencil mustaches, though at that age, his son’s looked more like a cheap imitation that anything. He sighed, shaking his head.

“We came all the way here, Alex. What do you mean _no_?”

“I…I can’t,” the boy mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the sea of faces still looking his direction.

“Well,” the other man, a taller dark-haired man dressed all in black, said as he folded his arms over his chest. “Your old man’s already paid. No refunds. So either you waste his money, or you get your butt in there.”

The teenager shook his head vigorously. “No, I…” He looked to his older double. “Pabbi, I can’t. They’ll laugh. I’m…not supposed to be here.”

His father sighed. “All the best athletes know how important dance training can be, Alex. You’re always saying how you want to get better and this is a good way to do it. Why can’t you give it a try?”

“Pabbi, if people find out I’m in ballet they’ll _laugh_ at me!”

“Let them laugh! They can laugh themselves silly while you’re up there winning trophies and championships!”

Alex shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes.

The man in black gave a heavy, exacerbated sigh. “ _Fine_. How about a compromise?” he asked.

Both of the blonds turned to hear his suggestion. The man glanced over his shoulder at the sea of dancers, who all collectively remembered in that moment that they were supposed to be warming up for their group lesson. The man whistled loudly through his teeth and a soft groan echoed out from somewhere in the room.

From the crowd, a gangly teenager emerged. His black hair and grey eyes matched that of the instructor, as did his sour expression. Once he was within reach, the man in black wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him to his side in spite of the youth’s grumblings.

“This here’s my son Robbie. How about _he_ teaches you?”

Robbie and the two blonds all yelled at once.

“What? Dad, you can’t! Please!”

“What qualification does he have to teach?”

“But he…he’s _my_ age!”

The dance instructor didn’t seem to care about any of their reactions. He just hugged his son to him with an affectionate smile and plowed onward. “It’s perfect, really. Robbie’s excellent. He’s gone to the state competition every year since he was eight, wins gold left and right. We already have dance schools banging down our door to have him attend. He knows his stuff.”

Robbie looked like he wanted to disappear far more than he wanted to dance.

“Little Alex here can get Grade A tutelage, no one but he and Robbie have to see a thing, you get your money’s worth, and everyone gets to go home happy.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, happy,” he mumbled under his breath, earning himself an uncomfortable squeeze from his father.

Alex’s father didn’t look entirely convinced, but at least Alex didn’t look like he was about to run anymore. And at least the substitute teacher seemed to know his stuff. With a sigh, he held out his hand to the other man.

“Alright, Master Glanni. It’s a deal.”

The two shook on it, their sons looked horrified with the simple gesture. Alex raised his eyes to Robbie’s, and the taller of the two looked away quickly. This wasn’t going to end well, was it?

******

“No, no, no, no, _no_!” Robbie shouted, stomping his foot in frustration. “You’re not even _trying_!”

Alex frowned, glaring at his so-called instructor. “I _am_!” he yelled back. “Maybe you’re just a bad teacher!”

“Maybe if you had any talent whatsoever I could actually teach you something!” Robbie shot back.

“Hey!”

“What? Just because you can throw a football or-or run a mile in, like, thirty seconds doesn’t mean you get to be good at _everything_!”

“No one’s good at everything!” Alex huffed, scowling.

“ _Clearly_! Look at you!”

“Oh, and you’re perfect?”

“I’m better than you!”

That was it. Alex stomped toward his instructor. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Robbie stared down his pupil, the two teenagers right in one another’s face at that point. He growled angrily, his nose and lip twitching with rage.

“It means you shouldn’t be here and I shouldn’t be wasting my time on someone who doesn’t even give a damn about any of this to begin with!” Robbie yelled, arms waving in frustration. “It’s not like you’re here because you _want_ to be anyway! You don’t care about dancing at all! I should be practicing, but instead I have to be in here _babysitting_!”

Alex made a face at the other boy’s outburst. “Who says I don’t care about dancing?” he asked.

Robbie kept yelling. “You practically _begged_ your dad not to make you take lessons! You’re only here because you want to play your stupid sports! I’m right, aren’t I? You’re just another dumb jock who thinks he can master ballet and win the super bowl with it or something, admit it! I’m stuck here teaching you when you won’t even _try_ and you don’t care because you think dancing is stupid, just like all your little sports friends!”

The blond stared at his instructor, his jaw hanging loose for a few moments as he listened to Robbie’s rant. After a moment, he took a step back from the other, trying to alleviate the tension that had so quickly built up between them.

“I don’t think dancing is stupid,” he said softly.

Robbie opened his mouth to shout something new, but immediately shut his mouth when the other boy’s words and gentle tone finally registered. He searched for a retort, but nothing came. He stared at the shorter teen in bewilderment instead, unsure how to respond. Alex saw his opening and took it.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to learn how to dance. I’m just…not good at it. Yeah, I…I don’t think anyone at school would be too _kind_ about me taking lessons, but it’d be even worse if they heard about how _terrible_ I am at it.” He sighed, lowering his eyes and folding his arms over his chest. “I know it might not look like it, but I actually _am_ trying, Robbie. I’m just no good at this, and my dad wants…he _needs_ me to be. Because all good athletes take dance classes and he wants me to be the best. But that’s not why I play sports anyway. I’m not trying to give you a hard time, Robbie. I’m just…not good, and I never will be.”

Robbie blinked. He wasn’t sure what aspect of Alex’s little admission was most surprising. The entire thing was so unexpected that he didn’t know how to respond at all. He watched as Alex turned away and went to go fetch his bag that was still waiting for him in the corner of the room. He had already pulled out his sneakers and shorts before Robbie found his words again.

“I…w-wait.”

Alex glanced over his shoulder, waiting for the reprimand. Robbie fumbled with his fingers where he stood.

“You’re not…that bad. I mean, you _are_ bad. _Really_ bad, but...but I haven’t been very helpful either. S-s-sorry.” He swallowed nervously. “Don’t go. B-besides, if you leave early my dad’ll rip me a new one.”

Alex put his things back down, but didn’t move otherwise.

“S-so you don’t think dancing is stupid?” Robbie asked. “Or, I dunno…for girls or whatever?”

Alex’s eyes widened with warmth as he shook his head. “No! No, I…dancing is amazing! It’s like…” He hummed, thinking for a moment. “It’s like a painting, but…moving. Does that make sense?” he asked, looking a bit embarrassed.

“Yeah. It does.”

Alex smiled, if only because Robbie was smiling now, too. Both were silent for a few seconds, neither of them knowing precisely what to say now.

“You, uh, want to start over?” Robbie finally asked.

Alex laughed. He hopped back to his feet and crossed the room, offering his hand out to the other teen. “Sure. My name’s Alex, but people usually call me Sportacus. What about you?”

Robbie chuckled as he took Alex’s hand. “I meant your lessons, but this works, too. I’m Robbie. People usually call me…uh, Robbie.”

Alex sputtered into laughter, and his new friend wasn’t far behind.


	6. Day #6 - Social Media/Video Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slow with these last few. Life happened.

He drove straight into the brick wall, the thunderous crash of the vehicle and the distressed cries of his companion ringing loudly in his ears. Íþróttaálfurinn cried out upon impact, jumping as the controller vibrated in his hands. He groaned and, after checking the buttons again, backed up his vehicle and guided it back toward the track.

“How can you be so bad at this?” Robbie moaned, tossing up his hands and falling back into his favorite chair.

The visiting hero winced at the man’s words, feeling a strange pang of guilt in his chest knowing that he was causing his host such distress. The controls hadn’t looked difficult to use when he watched Robbie use it, but this was as hard for Íþrótta as sitting still for long stretches of time. As if brought on by the very thought, the elf became aware of his left knee bouncing anxiously. It was like his very body was trying to find an outlet for his frustration.

“I’m sorry, Robbie,” the hero said, offering the handsome man a sad look of apology. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at this. Maybe I would be better at a different game?”

“This is the simplest one I have!” the villain moaned. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were so bad at this?”

Íþróttaálfurinn almost seemed to shrink as he spoke. “I…didn’t know you had invited me to play _these_ kinds of games,” he admitted.

The tall man raised an eyebrow, looking over at his guest in befuddled curiosity. “What kind of games did you _think_ I meant? You _know_ I don’t play the kind of things you and Sportadork are into.”

The elf shrugged, keeping his eyes not quite upon his crush’s face. “I don’t know. Sportacus said that you didn’t like most games, so I was excited to see what kinds you _did_ like to play. I thought maybe you had a table tennis set, or perhaps a pool table. Darts, even. I…I didn’t even think of video games.” He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he admitted defeat. “I’m sorry, Robbie. I should go.”

Robbie launched forward when his guest set his controller down and moved to get up. “W-wait! I…uh…”

The two men stared at each other, Robbie with wide, panicked eyes, and Íþrótta with the look of a defeated man. The villain held up a finger for patience and scrambled to his feet only to dash off into a nearby room without another word, leaving the hero alone.

Íþróttaálfurinn sighed, feeling worse the longer he stood there. He had been elated with the opportunity to spend time with the supposedly villainous engineer, having been star-struck by the man ever since he had first visited his little brother in LazyTown, but it seemed as though his attempts at spending quality time getting to know Robbie better had turned into an embarrassing mess instead.

“I _thought_ I still had it around here somewhere.”

Íþrótta looked up at the sound of Robbie’s voice. The man stumbled back into the room holding a new gaming system and its accompanying controllers. The elf tried not to grimace at the prospect of looking like a failure in Robbie’s eyes with a whole new console.

“I’m pretty sure my brother gave this to me as a joke,” Robbie was saying as he proceeded to unplug the first system and hook up the new one. “Only turned it on once, so it should still run like new, if we’re lucky. It came with a few— _yech!_ —sports games already installed on it, so they might be more your style.”

All Íþróttaálfurinn could do was watch the determined man work. He didn’t know what to say. As downtrodden as he felt, it _was_ nice to know that Robbie hadn’t simply given up on him or, worse, kick Íþrótta out of his home when his abysmal gaming skills became apparent. Maybe that meant that the initial invitation _hadn’t_ simply been a polite gesture. Perhaps the villain really _did_ want to spend time with him specifically. The hero dared to smile, even if it was just a little.

“There, perfect!” Robbie cheered as the company logo flashed on the screen. He retreated to his orange chair and plopped down with a sigh before extending an arm to his guest, jiggling the control stick for Íþrótta to take. “Here, try this on for size.”

Still hesitant of his imminent failure, Íþróttaálfurinn took the little remote-looking device. He watched as Robbie used his own to flick through a few screens before selecting some bright and colorful button that the elf didn’t even have time to understand.

“Bowling okay?” the villain asked. “Might be a good starter if you’ve never used them before.”

“Bowling?”

“Yeah,” Robbie said, nodding toward the television. “You’re up first.”

The hero frowned, looking at the screen to see a short tutorial waiting for him. As Íþrótta read, his eyes began to widen. He looked from the text to the small animation beside it and, realizing what it was illustrating, quickly looked back to Robbie in astonishment.

“What?” Robbie squirmed in his seat. “Is there something in my teeth or something?”

The elf felt himself beginning to grin. “I can play the game by moving?” he asked.

“Of course. That was the whole point of me getting this stupid thing out. I can play like I want, you can play like you want. Maybe you won’t be terrible at this one.”

Íþróttaálfurinn laughed in excitement, looking back to the screen and clicking the button to proceed. Following the helpful instructions, the hero happily oriented his controller—and his body—and imitated the act of bowling, watching his counterpart on screen mimic his actions. He celebrated the virtual bowling ball knocking down the lane’s pins with a jubilant cheer of personal victory.

“I did it! I did it, Robbie, look!”

The villain laughed. “Finally! It’s about time. Maybe you’re not such a lost cause after all.”

Íþrótta grinned at the man’s teasing, and turned his attention back to the screen. He had another shot. After lining things up, the hero released his make-believe ball, quickly getting a spare. He threw up his hands in triumph.

“Robbie, I—!”

Íþrótta gasped in shock when the remote flew from his hand, flying across the room and crashing into Robbie’s telephone, knocking it off the table to fall to the floor with a loud, ringing clatter. The villain scrambled out of the controller’s trajectory just in time, and both men stared at the heap of aftermath on the floor. The hero stood stock still, horrified at his actions. As if his atrocious gaming ability wasn’t enough, now he was destroying the man’s home.

“Oh my goodness,” Íþrótta whispered in horror. “Robbie, I…I am so sorry!”

His host, meanwhile, started to laugh, leaving Íþróttaálfurinn in total confusion.

“You’re a complete disaster!” the villain chortled. “I need to have you over more often to liven up the place!”

Íþrótta gave a small smile. “Wh-what?”

Robbie looked back at him. “This is the most entertaining afternoon I’ve had in a while! You’re terrible at _everything_ to do with video games! It’s hilarious! You want to come over tomorrow so I can have snacks ready for the show?”

The hero couldn’t help but snort, his cheeks feeling a tad warm all of a sudden. “I…I would love to.”


	7. Day #7 - Travel/Vacations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...

His suit case was packed. A little early, perhaps, but it was packed.  He had all the essentials he could think of: toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, clippers, razor, medication, underwear, socks, a few pairs of pants and matching shirts, a fanny pack to carry anything he might need on the go, even a hat to cover his head and keep the sun out of his eyes…was there anything else he was missing? Milford scratched his bare head as he looked at his bag. It was only half full, but he knew that he had to watch how much space his things took up; Bessie would need all the extra room she could get and he always offered to store some…or a lot…of her things in his bag.

“Oh my,” he breathed, glancing over at the calendar hanging on the wall. “There’s still so much to do!” He huffed, going through his mental checklist. “I bought the plane tickets, we have the room for the hotel, I’ve got brochures for all the resorts, Stephanie will be staying with Sportacus, but…oh dear. Oh no!” His eyes flew wide as he gasped in horror. “I forgot to book the second hotel! Where will we stay after—oh, oh and the boats! Oh, Ms. Busybody wanted so much to ride those! Oh, I’m so behind. How on earth could I have left so much to the last minute?”

Granted, the mayor had been incredibly busy lately. With Sportacus and Robbie around, things in LazyTown were always interesting in one way or another, but on top of that, Stephanie had needed help with a summer project for her extracurricular class she had signed up for, there were some town construction and maintenance contracts and problems to attend to, and…somehow in the bustle of it all, he had dropped the ball on his own vacation.

“Oh no,” he moaned, picking up a pile of brochures and travel guides and proceeding to haphazardly sift through them all to organize what had been planned and what was still up in the air. “How could I have forgotten so much? It was on my to-do list and…goodness…I should have written _keep track of to-do list_ on my to-do list! If I had, I wouldn’t be in this mess!”

The sound of his phone ringing in the next room startled the man. Milford yelped in surprise, dropping most of the papers and booklets to the floor. He groaned at the sight of it all, the telephone still shrieking for his attention.

“Oh dear. That must be her. Oh, what am I going to tell Ms. Busybody? She deserves the _perfect_ vacation,” he lamented.

Milford left the papers were they were for the moment in favor of answering his phone. He took a deep, steadying breath, and lifted the receiver from the hook.

“H-hello?”

“Milford! I just wanted to give you a ring to let you know I’m coming over in a minute. I’m just picking up a plate of cookies along the way, first. I thought we could enjoy them out on the patio.”

Oh no. She was coming over _now_? There wouldn’t be time to tidy up! The place was still such a mess from Stephanie’s project, and he hadn’t started dinner yet, either, and he had promised that he would stop by Bessie’s home earlier that afternoon to weed her garden while she was at the hairdresser and—oh, he had forgotten all about that, _too_! The mayor bit his lip, glancing back toward his bedroom only to catch sight of his suit case on the bed and the papers still strewn all over the floor. Oh, yes, how could he already forget _that_ problem already? This was just much too much. Oh, this entire day was just a disaster!

“Milford?”

“Huh? Oh! Uh…sorry, Ms. Busybody. The connection must have cut out for a second.” Good save. “What was that you said?”

“Oh, I was just saying that Eleanor was telling me all about the evening tours we could take. She and her husband went some years ago, and she still has all their information. But I wasn’t sure if you thought that that sort of a tour would be something you’d be interested in or not. I mean, it’s just _stories_ , after all. It’s not as though the carriage taking you everywhere is haunted, but you never know what sort of atmosphere a place might have until you get there and see it yourself. Eleanor seemed to like it, though, and you _know_ what a scardy-cat she can be sometimes. Remember that costume party a couple years back? When she was scared silly by Roger’s mummy outfit? I couldn’t believe the look on her face! You’d think she went and actually met King Tut the way she…”

The man began to zone out, his anxieties distracting him from listening to the woman’s monologue. He loved Bessie dearly, but sometimes she could go a little overboard on the storytelling. Not that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say—he actually enjoyed hearing her voice and all the twists and juicy turns her tales had—but sometimes one’s ears just got _tired_ and needed the occasional break.

Besides, his mind was too busy reeling to pay much attention anyway. Milford looked forlornly to the kitchen, his kettle for tea too far out of reach. He hated not having something to offer Bessie when she visited. Oh, why did he still bother to have a phone with a chord? He should have sprung for one of those wireless models ages ago so he could try to tidy up while Bessie talked instead of being rooted helplessly in place. There was no way he could make sure they had all of their reservations made and travel plans started, much less solidified, by the time she got here if he was stuck standing by the telephone. No, the universe had clearly decided that Milford was doomed. And, rightfully so, if he hadn’t been able to handle his mundane life enough to have a presentable home for his lady guest. What a disaster.

“…and after that, the fish will be just—oh! I guess I must have been walking faster than I thought!” Bessie giggled on the other end of the phone line. “I guess I’ll see you in just a little bit, Milford.”

The man swallowed and sputtered out a distressed “O-okay, Ms. Busybody. I’ll see you then.”

Milford hung up the phone, staring at the receiver for a few moments in dismay. It was ruined. Everything was a mess, their trip tomorrow was still somehow only half-planned…oh, she was going to be so disappointed. And disappointed in _him_. Ms. Busybody deserved the best, after all, and it was what she was used to, but Milford had let her down terribly, and with no time to fix things before she found out.

“Well,” he said to himself, “Maybe I can at least have that tea ready for when she—”

_Ding ~ Dong!_

Milford could feel his heart sink straight into his stomach as he now realized what the woman’s last comment had meant before their conversation ended. Oh no. He swallowed, shuffling toward his front door like a man lead to the gallows. His hand rested momentarily on the door handle while he mentally prepared himself for the disappointment he would soon be delivering to the most wonderful woman in his town. Milford let out a slow breath, put on a smile, and opened the door.

“Ta-da!” Bessie laughed, holding her hands out in faux surprise, holding the box of cookies in one and her phone still in the other, a heavy-looking handbag hanging from the elbow.

“H-hello, Ms. Busybody!” he greeted kindly. “Come on in. I...well, pardon the mess. I’m so sorry, Stephanie had a project she was working on and I suppose I got a little side-tracked when it came to cleaning and—”

“Oh, don’t worry at all, dear. I’ve had to babysit the kids in this town enough to know that messes are never far behind,” Bessie assured him as she bustled past in search of his kitchen counter to put her things down.

Milford closed the door and wordlessly followed the woman to the kitchen. Bessie was already picking up their conversation from wherever it was they had left off, so he went to add some water to the kettle while she finished her thought.

“What do _you_ think?”

Oh no, as if his blunders today couldn’t get any worse.

“I…what?”

How lost he felt must have shown on his face, because Bessie furrowed her brow and cocked her head as she looked at him. Milford stood there, frozen. Some part of his brain insisted that if he stayed still, maybe the problem would go away, that she would find something to occupy herself, but it was an obvious lie and he knew it.

“Milly, are you alright?” the woman asked.

Oh, she would find it all out anyway soon enough, wouldn’t she? Milford let out a heavy sigh and let his shoulders slump. “No,” he admitted. “I suppose not.”

Bessie pulled out one of the stools from the kitchen island and patted it. “Milford, sweetheart, come here and tell me what’s wrong,” she said, her tone soft and eyes warm as she looked over his face in concern.

The mayor did as he was told, sitting next to the blue-haired woman. He stared at the countertop while she rested a gentle hand on his back and began to rub it in small, comforting circles.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Milford.”

“Oh, Ms. Busybody,” the man breathed in dismay. “I’m so very sorry. I know you’ve so been looking forward to this vacation, but I’m afraid I’ve bumbled the entire thing before it even began!”

“Milford, honey, I doubt that. What’s happened with it? We’re still going, aren’t we?”

“Well, yes…”

“I remember you said you bought the plane tickets.”

“Yes.”

“And we were going to stay in that nice hotel by the beach for the first bit, right?”

“Oh, yes, I…I reserved our room there right away…that was almost a year ago, with how popular it is…”

Bessie blinked at him, not seeming to understand his distress. “Then what’s wrong, Milford?”

“Everything else, I’m afraid. I got so busy with work, and the house, and packing...I only realized today that I didn’t get anything else ready at all! I have all the brochures, but no reservations or tickets for anything! Oh, I know you were so looking forward to—”

The mayor was cut off by the woman placing a finger to his lips.

“ _Milford_ ,” she said sternly, despite the kind smile she wore, “That’s all we need. We can find accommodations for the last half of the trip as we go, even if it’s not the grandest. We’ll be out and about all day anyway.”

“But—”

“No buts, Milly. You take on too much sometimes.” She looked a little ashamed, then. “And, I’ll admit, I heap a little too much on top of that myself.” Bessie went back to smiling quickly. “That’s why I decided it was high time that I start helping and do some of the work myself.”

He made a face, not sure what she was getting at. Bessie reached for her purse laying on the counter and reached inside. Out came a pile of familiar-looking brochures, as well as a fair number of notebook pages tucked here and there with notes scribbled all over them.

“I knew you were feeling a little bogged down lately from all the contracts and craziness at city hall,” Bessie said with a knowing smirk, “So I took the liberty of coming up with a few itineraries we could choose from. I thought maybe today we could compare notes and finalize things. It looks like it might be easier decision-making than I anticipated.”

Milford’s eyes widened. “Oh my! You…you did it all… _yourself_?”

“Of course, Milford. What do you think, I can’t handle myself?”

He squirmed uncomfortably where he sat.

“Anyway,” Bessie said, rolling her eyes. “Would you like to take a look over tea and cookies? We can make some calls and see what spaces are left and make reservations tonight, finish packing tomorrow morning and…well, go catch a plane! What do you say?”

“I…I don’t know what to say. Ms. Busybody…”

“You don’t have to say anything, Milford. I wanted to help. I realize I should probably do that more than I have been. This felt like a good place to start.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the shrill whistle of the kettle. Milford jumped up and raced over to take it off the heat and pour each of them some tea. He could feel the woman watching him from behind as he did. As he poured, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Things might be alright after all. A small smile tugging at his lips, he turned around to offer Bessie her mug. She thanked him and pulled it close.

“Thank you, Ms. Busybody.”

“No, thank _you_ , Milford.” She laughed out loud. “And call me Bessie, _please_! It’s been years now, hasn’t it?”

The mayor blushed. “Oh my. Uh, yes. Thank you, Bessie.”


End file.
